


Interlude

by Noelleian



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mild Angst, Schmoop, Suggestive Themes, cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 12:29:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10764288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noelleian/pseuds/Noelleian
Summary: Quatre doesn't know what's gotten into Trowa lately, but after getting the cold shoulder for over a month, he decides it's time to demand some answers.





	Interlude

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Imgoingthereagain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imgoingthereagain/gifts), [Jess_eklom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_eklom/gifts).



_So, I was prompted on Tumblr to write this oneshot and I decided to go for it. I really hope you guys enjoy it.[Here's the prompt](http://musingsiren.tumblr.com/post/127670686495/i-need-ships-where-at-least-one-of-the-people-are) if anyone is interested._  
_"i need ships where at least ONE of the people are just really pissed about how deeply inlove they are. like ‘god damnit i’m so fucking in love with you and i hate it and i hate how i feel when others hit on you and i hate how i lose appetite and i hate how much i smile around you and how you make me blush and my heart race and godAMMIT I’m so deeply in love with you it’s crazy’"_

_I didn't follow the exact quote in this, but the premise is still the same._

 

*******

**Interlude**

 

Trowa was...an odd creature and of course Quatre meant that in the nicest way possible. At first, he’d come off as quite laid back. Chill, as Duo would say, but there was an inner passion, a hot temper simmering inside him that Quatre often got little whiffs of every now and then. **  
**

He was extremely, and infuriatingly, difficult to read. Closed off much of the time unlike Duo and Wufei who wore their emotions on their sleeves. There seemed to be an impenetrable wall around him that no amount of empathy could break through. Built from something even stronger than Gundanium, something that perhaps transcended even the most powerful elements in the universe.

Or perhaps he was simply reading far too much into nothing. When he’d brought up his musings to Heero in the hopes for some insight, the other man had scoffed and told him that he needed to lay off the romance novels that were, as far as Heero was concerned, ‘dripping with purple prose’.

Quatre wasn’t sure why it amazed him that Heero even knew what purple prose was, but the surprise must have been evident on his face because the other pilot glowered at him and snarked, “Yes, Quatre. I _am_ up-to-date on the current trends of internet speak, thank you very much.”

Who knew Heero could sass with the best of them?

That romance novel quip was definitely hitting below the belt, but - oh, who was he kidding? When it came to Trowa, Quatre could wax poetic the likes of which would make Shakespeare himself itch with envy. And everyone in the world seemed to know this except for Trowa.

He couldn’t decide if the Heavyarms pilot was deliberately ignoring the moony eyes and embarrassing way Quatre practically swooned in his presence, or if Trowa was just that oblivious. He was a smart guy. He had to know which could only mean that he preferred to pretend the blond’s little ‘crush’ didn’t exist. Which was crushing in of itself, but what could Quatre do about it?

Mercifully, both Heero and Wufei were tactful enough to not bring it up, but when it came to Duo, Quatre’s luck ran out.

“You know what you gotta do, Q?” He asked across the breakfast table one morning. 

Quatre leaned out of the way to avoid being splattered with chewed up corn flakes. “Allah, don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Duo swallowed his bite and pointed his spoon at Quatre who watched milk drip from the edge onto the oak varnish. “You gotta grow a pair and go tell that boy that you want to get your freak on with him.”

He winced at the vulgar suggestion and took a sip of his tea. “I don’t ‘want to get my freak on’, Duo.” At least, he didn’t _only_ want to get his freak on. “There’s more to it than that.”

“Oh, spare me the virtuous act. Deep down, we’re all just animals looking for some sucky-fucky.”

Quatre rested his chin on his hand and watched his friend scoop golden flakes onto his spoon. “You’re a real gentleman, you know that? How does Hilde handle such chivalry?”

Duo gave him a lecherous grin from behind the rim of his coffee mug. “She can’t get enough of it.”

He made a face and picked up his toast, peeling the crust off the edges. “Anyway, I don’t think he feels the same way so it’s kind of pointless.”

“What are you talking about? He’s totally into you, Quat!”

“I don’t even know how, or why you think that. He’s been avoiding me lately. He barely says a word to me and it’s only when he absolutely has to. I feel like I’ve done something wrong, but he won’t tell me what it is.”

Duo waved his hand. “Eh, Tro’s weird like that. I can’t imagine what, if anything, you could have done wrong. He’s probably just in one of his moods.”

“Who’s probably just in one of his moods?”

Quatre’s heart raced for a split second, feeling like a tick about to pop until he recognized the new voice. He sagged in relief when he realized it was only Wufei. “No one.”

Duo picked up his mug again and grinned at their co-pilot. “Tro. Quat’s pining again,” he said and then yelped as the blond kicked his shin under the table. “Ow! Damn, Q. That’s gonna leave a mark.”

“Maybe you should shut up then?”

“What? Fei’s harmless, aren’t you, Fei?” He winked at the other man who rolled his eyes and headed towards the stove where the tea kettle sat.

“There’s still some hot water in there, Wufei.”

“Thank you for leaving me some this time, Winner.”

Quatre blushed and gave him a polite smile though Wufei was too busy pouring the steaming water into his kese to notice. “Sorry I forgot last time.”

“You were in a rush. It’s not a big deal. I’m perfectly capable of boiling my own water.”

“Right.”

“Anyhoo,” Duo interrupted, not the least bit interested in a discussion about hot water. “So, Q. What'cha wanna to do today?”

“I don’t know. I should probably get some work done for WEI. I’m behind on paperwork.”

“Pfffft. _Booooo_ -ring. 'Sides, paperwork gives you premature wrinkles.”

Wufei turned from the stove, his expression comically incredulous. “Where in the hell did you hear that?”

“I read a few copies of Hilde’s Cosmo mags.”

Quatre gave him an exasperated look. “Well, what do you suggest?”

“Don’t ask him that,” Heero advised him as he walked into the kitchen. “Knowing him, he’d probably suggest a pantie raid, or something.”

Duo’s mouth slowly curved into a wide grin, his eyes lighting up brighter than an airport runway. “Now you’re speaking my language, bucko. I knew you’d come to the dark side eventually.” He glanced down at his watch. “Midnight work for you?”

Heero shot him his trademark glare. “I didn’t say I would participate in any of your debauchery.”

Duo snorted and glanced at Quatre. “Debauchery. Fei?”

“No.”

Unperturbed, he turned to the blond. “Quat? What say you?”

“I’m not going on any pantie raids, Duo.”

The self-proclaimed God of Death’s grin was the epitome of ‘shit-eating’ as he added, “Maybe only one.”

“Oh, Allah! Really? Trowa’s a guy. He doesn’t even wear panties.”

“How do you know unless you find out?”

“I can assure you, Duo...that I do not wear panties.”

Quatre froze in terror as all of the blood in his body defied the laws of physics and rushed into his face. He couldn’t even move enough to turn and look at the Heavyarms pilots, didn’t even know what he could possibly say to him that would explain what had just happened. He sat immobile in his chair, staring down at the wood grain of the table, flushed with mortification and wishing Allah Himself would smite him to the depths of purgatory.

When it didn't happen, he silently asked why he'd been forsaken on this day, of all days.

Duo seemed to have no such qualms, though. “Bummer.”

“What are you guys talking about?”

Wufei picked up his kese and leaned against the counter. “Trust me, you’re much better off not knowing.”

Quatre made the mistake of looking up and he stared in awe at the broad width of Trowa’s back, watching glorious muscles shift beneath golden skin as the other man reached up to pull a mug out of the cupboard and pour himself a cup of coffee. His mouth watered and he clamped his lips together to keep from drooling. His ego had taken enough hits already.

Damn. He _did_ want to get his 'freak' on. He wanted in those pants so bad, he could taste it. Those sleep-rumpled, linen pajama pants that hung low on Trowa’s narrow hips particularly. Allah strike him down, but he was so screwed.

Duo was glancing back and forth between them and Quatre gave him a murderous glare of warning. _Don’t you dare, Duo. Don’t you fucking dare say a word, or I will castrate you in your sleep!_

Thankfully, he said nothing about the obvious tension between Quatre and Trowa, instead leaning back in his chair and propping his feet on the one beside him. “Well, whatever. If you squares are going to spend the day working, I’ll have to find something else to do because fuck that.”

“I’m not bailing you out of jail again, Duo. Keep that in mind,” was Heero’s response.

“Neither am I,” Wufei echoed.

“Same.”

“Nope.”

“Jesus, you guys are no fun. Can’t have a good time if you don’t live a little, y’know?”

“I think we ‘live’ enough considering we pilot Gundams in a war,” Quatre told him as he picked up his plate of uneaten toast and took it to the sink.

“You’re not going to eat that?” Heero asked, pointing at the plate of mangled, buttered toast topped with orange marmalade.

He smiled and handed it over. “You’re more than welcome to it. Guess I’m just not hungry.”

Heero took it from him and carried it back to the table, yanking away the chair with Duo’s feet on it so he could sit.

Quatre rinsed his tea cup out, placed it in the sink, and then glanced at Trowa, forcing a nervous smile. “So...what are your plans for the day?”

“Dunno yet,” Trowa answered in an uninterested monotone, not even bothering to look at the blond.

Quatre’s heart plummeted into his stomach, but he nodded and mustered up enough faux cheerfulness to say, “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out. I hope you have a good day. I’m going to get some work done.”

He excused himself, not expecting a response and he didn’t get one. Crushed, he left the kitchen and went back to his room to look over the reports his secretary had faxed him the day before.

“Hey, Fei -”

“No, Maxwell. Whatever it is, the answer is ‘no’.”

 

*******

 

He couldn’t quite figure out what he’d done wrong. Had he left the toilet seat up? Did he forget to rinse the toothpaste out of the sink, or leave a dirty dish unwashed? Did he snore?

Perhaps he was reading too much into it, but he just couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d angered Trowa somehow. The other man seemed tetchy, irritated with him. If Quatre so much as asked a simple question, Trowa would nearly bite his head off.

The avoidance hurt the most. He was getting the cold shoulder and he just wished he knew why. Since they were sharing a room in the safe house they were currently holed up in, something they typically did, Trowa had begun waiting for him to fall asleep before heading to bed himself. And he was often up and milling about downstairs by the time Quatre was awake.

This had been going on now for over a month and Quatre was close to losing his mind. He stared down at the sheet of paper in his hand, trying to absorb the readout that displayed the adjustment of their payload, but his brain seemed like a repulsive force; pushing away any information that he tried to feed it. He threw the sheet down and dragged his fingers through his hair, huffing with frustration.

“What the hell is wrong with me? I can’t concentrate on anything!” He rubbed his eyes and picked up the sheet again, already feeling exhausted even though it was only nine in the morning. “C’mon, Quatre. _Focus_ , damn it.”

If he didn’t get his shit together and get this done, they would be even more behind and the board would start to seriously consider removing him from his position, heir, or no heir. His sisters were already chomping at the bit to knock him from the pedestal everyone had put him on, without his consent, no less. They’d been appealing to the board for months, citing his ‘war crimes’ as the reason he wasn’t suited to run a prestigious company such as WEI.

“I go to war for you and this is how you repay me? Thanks a bunch,” he muttered and picked up his pen to scribble a few changes on the readout. “No, Jerod Al Aqai does not need forty million in campaign money. Let’s just redirect those funds back to infrastructure where they’re supposed to be. Ah, that's much better. That prick will pull another one over on me, over my dead arse.”

WEI's CFO was notorious for trying to sneak in earmarks for his own ambitious goals and by now, Quatre knew exactly how to find them, though it had taken a few painful lessons along the way. Quatre’s personal ambitions were among removing the man from his position and kicking him and his collection of Bonsai trees to the curb the moment his contract expired. But since he was appointed by Quatre's late father, the blond was stuck with him until the end of the fiscal year.

“You sure knew how to pick ‘em, dad,” he said as he set the paper aside to look over the next page. Unfortunately, as savvy a businessman as Zayeed was, he was absolute shit at things like ingenuity and especially abysmal when it came to reading people.

_Talent skips a generation, as the saying goes, Quatre. Your father may not have inherited my gifts, but I see them in you, even as young as you are. Don’t let him push you around, okay?_

Those had been the last words his grandfather said to him while riddled with cancer on his deathbed when Quatre was only eleven and those words still stuck with him to this very day. Abdel Fattah Winner had been so doped up with morphine that he’d sounded a mere caricature of himself, rambling on like some drunken madman on a mission from God. At the time, Quatre had yet to understand his father’s flaws, but since then, he’d learned.

“And then some,” he said with a laugh and set the second page aside. There was a slight creaking sound behind him and it took him a moment to realize the door was being pushed open. As quietly as possible, he noted, though he wasn’t sure if Trowa was trying to be stealth out of consideration for Quatre's work, or if it was just the usual avoidance tactic.

For some reason, the barely audible creak sounded much louder to his ears than it normally would, sounding more like keys being dragged across a chalkboard. He winced as it sparked a nerve and he spun in his chair, suddenly more pissed off than he’d been in a long time.

“What are you doing?!”

He hadn’t meant to sound so venomous, but this whole... _thing_ with Trowa had been building up to a tumultuous head for weeks and he was at the point where he didn’t much care about feeling guilty at the look of surprise on the other man’s face.

Trowa was stopped short in the doorway, frozen mid-step with his eyes wide and for the first time in too long, finally, _finally_ focused on Quatre. “I - was getting something.”

“No. I mean what are you _doing?_ What the hell has gotten into you lately?”

Trowa’s mouth snapped shut and then opened again as he grasped for words. “I...don't - I don’t know what you mean.”

 _Bullshit_. “Bullshit. That’s bullshit, Trowa and you know it.” He stood up and walked towards him, grabbing his arm and hauling him inside the room before slamming the door shut. Trowa seemed nervous, but Quatre sensed it wasn’t so much fear of him as it was fear of whatever he was hiding being exposed. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing.”

“It’s not ‘nothing’. You’ve been avoiding me. You barely speak to me anymore, much less even look at me. Why? What did I do wrong?”

Trowa plopped down onto the chair in the corner and buried his head in his hands. “Can we not do this right now?”

“Why? You got somewhere you need to be? Something you need to do? If not now, when?" He sat down on the edge of the bed and threw his hands up. "I don’t know about you, but I can’t live like this anymore.”

Trowa lifted his head up, his eyes wide with alarm. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve requested to switch rooms with Duo. He agreed.” Okay, it was a half-lie, but he was sure Duo would agree if Quatre really pressed him and if it scared Trowa enough to spill the beans, he'd call that a win.

“Why?”

“You’re seriously asking me that?”

“Quat - I...I don’t want you to switch rooms and...no, you haven’t done anything wrong, okay? Can we just leave it at that?”

“No, we can’t just leave it at that. I’m not sure I even believe you since you only seem to be acting this way around me. Tell me what’s wrong?”

Trowa’s expression and body language belayed a sense of defeat. Whatever it was, he knew damned well it was going to be out. He couldn’t run from it anymore and he was painfully aware of it. “I don’t think I can -”

“You either tell me now, or you’re spending the remainder of our time in this house sleeping with Duo. And you know he’s just as loud when he sleeps as he is when he’s awake.”

“Quat -”

“You have five seconds to start talking. Five…”

“Quatre, don’t do this. _Please_.”

“Four…”

“I don’t even know how to tell you what I’m -”

“Three…”

“Jesus, would you  _listen_ for just a second? I’m trying to -”

“Two…”

“ _I’m in love with you, okay?!_ ”

“One...you - what?”

Trowa had jumped to his feet with that shouted confession and now he dropped back into the chair, his shoulders slumped and voice hushed with resignation. “I’m in love with you, Quat. Goddamn it, I thought it was something that would just go away. Like a stupid crush, or something, but it’s not going away. It’s only getting stronger and the more I try to -”

“Wait a minute, wait. A. _Minute_. Back up for a second. You -” he pointed his finger at the other man. “Have been acting like this because you’re in love with me?”

Trowa folded his arms across his chest and leaned back with a decided sulk on his face. “Yeah.”

“Wha - since when? What the _fuck?!_ ”

“Quat -”

“Don’t ‘Quat’ me, you - you - you _jerk!_ You - you utter bastard! You had me thinking this whole time that you hated me! You had me worried _sick!_ ”

“ _You’re_ worried? _You?_ How do you think _I_ feel? I don’t even know how to handle this!”

“You think I do?”

“Of course you do! You’re so good at stuff like this and I’m - what am I? Who am I? Everyone loves you and I’m just - I’m a nobody," he finished, flushing with what Quatre was sure was shame. 

The look of dejection on his face was enough to break through the haze of his fury and his voice softened, just a little. “You stupid idiot,” he said in a tone of fond exasperation.

Trowa nodded with a bitter laugh. “Yes, I am an idiot,” he agreed, looking up at Quatre with eyes so earnest, the blond’s heart nearly broke. “But I’m an idiot who’s in love with you. And I’m sorry I put you through all this, but...I was just so - I was so angry with myself for letting this happen. By the time I realized what it was, it was too late to turn back and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I still don't.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me about this sooner? Trowa...we could have worked this out and avoided all this drama.”

“I didn’t know how to and I didn’t -” he paused and blew out a breath. “I didn’t want to face rejection, alright?”

Quatre blinked in surprise and then tipped his head back, cackling loud enough to scare away a few birds that were perched in the tree outside the window.

“Oh, Allah. You really are a fool. Trowa,” he chided gently, pulling the man’s arms out of the way so he could slide into his lap. His belly tightened with a rush of giddiness as those powerful arms closed around him. “Your powers of observation are severely lacking if you haven’t noticed how I’ve been fawning over you like Relena does whenever Heero wears those stupid bike shorts.”

Trowa snorted and pressed his forehead into Quatre’s shoulder. “That doesn’t necessarily mean you wouldn’t reject me.”

“Why would you think I’d reject you?”

“Why wouldn’t you? What could I possibly have to offer you?”

Quatre reached up and grasped his chin, tilting his head so that he could look deep into the stormy eyes that he'd been in love with for over two years. “The only thing I have ever wanted, or will ever want from you...is you.”

Trowa stared back, his mouth working as if fumbling for the right words. In the end, he decided there was nothing more to say. Now was the time for action. He gripped a fistful of blond hair at the back of Quatre’s head, pulled him down, and pressed their mouths together.

It was a little awkward at first, but it took only seconds for them to find their rhythms and sync them together and Quatre sighed in bliss as he open up for Trowa’s tongue. He dug his fingers into the man’s sinewy shoulders and hummed with contentment, kissed until he was dizzy and gasping for air.

At last they pulled away, but not far, resting their forehead together and breathing each other in. Trowa traced his finger across Quatre’s kiss-swollen lips and whispered, “I love you and I’m sorry I ever made you feel like I hated you. I...was hating myself, I guess because I didn’t think I deserved you.”

Quatre brushed his thumb over a chiseled cheekbone, loving the feel of the soft, smooth skin. “Don’t ever think that again. Ever. Don’t you ever think you don’t deserve me, or anyone else. You are worthy of love, Trowa Barton and I’ll not have you believing otherwise. And next time, _talk_ to me, okay? This whole thing could have been avoided if you hadn't tried to hide it from me. Talk to me, Trowa. Never be afraid to do that. Understood?”

Trowa smiled and kissed him again. “Understood.” He pulled back, his grin just a little on the mischievous side. “You’re pretty bossy, you know that?”

“I kind of have to be, but...is that a problem?”

“No problem at all. Just an observation. Besides, I quite like it.”

Quatre snickered and leaned down for another kiss. “You would.”

“Awww, would you look at that? It's so cute, I think I'm gonna barf.”

They broke apart and glanced over to see a totem pole of heads peeking around the edge of the door. Quatre cleared his throat. “Can I help you guys with something?”

Duo grinned from his spot at the bottom of the tiered heads. “Nope. We’re good.”

“Get out, then.”

“Okay, we’re goin’. Just making sure everything was alright after we heard shouting, but it looks like you two finally patched things up.”

“It’s about damned time,” Wufei muttered as his head disappeared. His voice faded as he headed back towards the stairs, but not before Quatre caught the, “Felt like I was living in a perpetual episode of the Young and the Horny. Talk about torture.”

Duo got up from his crouch and grabbed the back of Heero’s shirt. “C’mon, Hee-chan, let’s give them some privacy.”

Heero lingered at the door for a minute, his eyes trained on Quatre. “Does Relena really look at me that way when I’m wearing my bike shorts?”

“Get _out!_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed this fluffy little piece. I'd like to thank imgoingthereagain and Jess_eklom for prompting and encouraging (i.e. twisting my arm ~.^) to write it. You ladies are the absolute best and I love you both dearly.


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